A While by the Wake
by JemimaLee
Summary: ONESHOT. Nobody Owens is still a young child in want of a friend, and one who cannot contemplate the finality of death. He talks with Silas about why the living are afraid of the dead.


**Just finished reading The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman and I absolutely adored it. Having visited Highgate Cemetery in London myself (and spent many hours in other graveyards) I felt a distinct connection to Nobody "Bod" Owens, and his lonely guardian Silas. They had a wonderful bond that I was sad to see the end of, so I've written this one-shot to take place between the earlier chapters. I've also featured one of my own characters as a cameo, so I hope you enjoy! :)**

**A While by the Wake**

It was snowing. Bod trudged through the graveyard in a state of mixed wonder and melancholy; snow only fell once a year for a day or so, and it was always a treat for him whenever it did. It floated down gently, pleasantly dusting the graves and grass like some bizarre Christmas cake. When he walked through it he made no sound, unconsciously using his Freedom of the Graveyard to surround himself in a bubble of silence; it was peaceful that way.

His mother had warned him about playing out in the snow ("You'll catch your death out there, same as the little Thomason boy," she'd stated half-heartedly. Bod suspected that she wouldn't mind so much if he did catch his death; at least that way they'd have something in common). He wouldn't have any of it though. The cold rarely affected him as it would a normal human boy, after all he'd spent his whole life sleeping in a damp crypt, his body was accustomed to poor temperatures. He had a tradition to uphold that his family and friends did not know of, and come sleet or hail he would continue it this year.

He came across what he thought was his usual seat on the hill, one that faced the city below and the sunrise on a sunny day. He reached for a nearby headstone and brushed away some of the powdery snow. It fell into the carved letters of someone's final resting place, and Bod read: **"Arelle Lawrence, Artist 1888 – 1911, **_**Come Jesus Come**_**".**

He smiled; this was the perfect spot to be sure. Soon they would come, as they did each year, and his little party would begin.

"'Ello Bod," came a voice from beside him. Bod glanced at Arelle, who was barely visible by the falling snow, but he recognised the freckles on her pale face.

"Hullo Arelle. Merry Christmas."

"And to you, boy." She chuckled, and her eyes drifted to the view before them. The city was there, as always, glittery and frosty in the distance. But from where they were sitting she could also see the iron fence surrounding their home, and the little one-way road beyond it leading down into Old Town.

"Waiting for something?" she asked.

Bod didn't answer for a moment. This was his private custom; to share it with somebody else felt like a violation. So he lied.

"Not at all. I just like the view from here. Do you enjoy the snow?"

"Not particularly, I can't feel it." She muttered, sticking out her tongue and looking rather sombre when a snowflake just passed straight through it. She sighed.

"I'll leave you to it then, but you should know that Silas has been looking for you. Shall I send him your way?"

Bod nodded simply, his eyes keen on the little road ahead. He felt her presence vanish and knew that Silas would arrive shortly.

And then, up ahead, the flicker of candlelight. Bod shifted, lifting his head to see if… yes! They were coming! Seven little sets of feet crunching through the snow, kicking up a fuss; a musical number of chatter and giggles; the splat of a snowball hitting one person, and the victim yelping "Oi!" and fighting back. And among them, in the smallest, sweetest voice, a song was sung:

"_Away in a manger_

_No crib for a bed_

_The little Lord Jesus_

_Lay down his sweet head…"_

Bod smiled as the group of children gathered atop the hill and proceeded to play in the Christmas night air. He had watched them for many years now, the same little family of brothers, sisters and cousins. He had memorised their names and faces over the years; the eldest girls, loud and flamboyant were Sophia and Rebecca, followed by a bickering boy and girl who looked like twins: their names were Laura and Ryan. The next boy was Ethan, who was busy cackling and chucking snowballs at anyone who fell into his aim. A younger girl, quiet and moody, and hugging her dolly close to her chest, was named Mia. And lastly, the little singing cherub was Liam, a boy with a cheerfully pink face, who was dragging a sledge behind him.

To Bod, they felt like old friends. To them, he was a stranger.

His head sank to his knees and he watched them playing for a few minutes before he felt the appearance of his guardian.

Silas didn't need the Freedom of the Graveyard to hide his footsteps, as he was silent as the grave in any circumstance. Bod, however, could always sense him before he arrived, he was that in-tune with his dark mentor.

Silas did not sit in the snow, he merely observed what Bod was seeing, his slender arms curled behind his back. The snow daren't touch him, and melted within inches of his white skin.

"Silas." Bod said, by way of acknowledgement.

"Good Evening." He replied, voice smooth and dark as black silk. "And why do I find you sitting out here?"

Bod knew Silas could read him like a book, so he could only assume he was asking him this because he wanted Bod to admit the error of his ways openly to him. He would not though. He would not admit that wishful thinking was bad for him.

"I like to watch them playing. It happens every year."

Silas sighed, so gently it was almost unheard. "My boy, you know you cannot go out there."

"I know." Bod said quickly, in no mood for a lecture. "But what harm is watching?"

"I appreciate that." Silas muttered. Finally, and with some reluctance, he sat beside the living boy, surprising himself as well as Bod. "However, I don't see the significance of you freezing out here when your dinner is hot and ready indoors. Mrs Owens is worried for you."

Bod ignored him, sulking deeply into his arms and knees.

"I know I can't go out there." He said eventually, not lifting his head. "But why don't they come in?"

"Come in here?" Silas asked, his voice rising a little in confusion.

Bod sat up, gesturing to the children; the twins were sledging down the hill and fell into a tangled mess at the bottom, laughing without end.

"Why don't the children come and play in here?" He pleaded, his heart aching with loneliness.

Silas tilted his head thoughtfully, and glanced at the iron gates nearby, chained up in all their gothic forbiddance, eerie and unkempt in the snowfall.

"Bod, the graveyard is locked at night. They couldn't come in if they wanted to."

"But they could climb the wall, or the fence." He countered, hearing his voice growing selfish and argumentative, and not caring. "They could come in during the day, but they wont!"

"A cemetery isn't a playground, boy."

Bod scowled; of course a cemetery could be a playground. The very best in his opinion, and his old friend Scarlett would have agreed with that, had she not moved away. He himself had spent a great deal of time finding places to play and hide in the ancient grounds, amongst the ivy and brambles, and crumbling headstones. He loved it, and he found it fascinating. So why did other living children avoid this place?

"Are they afraid of the dead or something?" Bod asked bluntly.

Silas nodded, his pointed nose high in the air, examining the cityscape. "Possibly. Living people are often afraid of death. Cemeteries are a reminder of that, so not a great deal of joy can be found in them."

"I'm not afraid of death," said the boy.

"Indeed you are not," said Silas. "And I believe that to be unwise of you, Bod. You have an entire life ahead of you, and your drive to live – to succeed – will not reveal itself unless you learn that every day could be your last."

Bod listened carefully, admiring his mentor even when he was annoyed with him. Silas was making sense, if only a little.

"Are you afraid of death, Silas?"

The dark man faltered, his face flickering with… was that regret? And he huffed a little. "To tell you the truth, Bod, I often long for it. I am so lost between life and death that I no longer have a future. Not one that I cannot predict, at least."

Bod was quiet again, but then he muttered under his breath "I don't want you to die" and Silas smiled in his cold heart, silently thanking the boy for his concern.

The snow had stopped and the graveyard looked as beautiful as it ever could. Silas was on his feet without Bod having even noticed.

"Well, my boy: it is Christmas, after all, and I'm sure there are some gifts waiting for you in the crypt, along with your supper. Shall we go?"

"In a moment," Bod said, standing and forging a grin. "I'll follow you."

And with that Silas nodded and was gone in a twist of black smoke. Where he had been stood, Bod could spot a little silvery blue eye peeking out at him from behind a tree.

Arelle revealed herself. "Forgive me for eavesdropping."

"It's alright." Bod said, busy watching the children again. It was late and they were beginning to huddle themselves together on their journey home.

"If it makes you feel at all better," Arelle mumbled. "Sledging isn't all that wonderful."

Bod looked at her with an expression of "Oh?"

"It's quite painful when you fall off, and cold when you go under the snow. And it's wet and dirty." She gave him a warm grin, looking hopeful that she might have cheered him up.

Bod nodded distantly, not entirely believing her. "Arelle?"

"Yes Bod?"

"Were you afraid of death when you were alive?"

Arelle chuckled, her pearly hair bobbing in its ringlets. "Not really, it was quite unexpected. Lead poisoning from chewing my pencil, you see. Funny, yes?"

Bod grimaced at her casual approach to her own demise, but assumed that she'd had almost a century to deal with it. Suddenly, the young woman became rather sad.

"My husband, though. He was afraid." She said, eyes looking at the floor. "He was so afraid of death that he moved to America to be with his family. He's probably buried there now, never to see me again."

"I'm sorry." Said Bod, feeling genuinely bad for her. He had met several ghosts in the graveyard who were separated from their loved ones by time and distance.

"It's good to have family, Bod. Do you understand?" She stroked a cool hand through his hair.

The living boy did understand, and nodded, giving her the friendliest smile he could. "I understand, Arelle. I'm going to go home now."

"Good boy." She beamed, and with a quick tug of his cheek she melted back into her grave.

Bod took one last look at the city below and concluded, with a wary smile, that for now he was going to appreciate what he had, and seize the day in time.

**Did you like? Please R&R!**


End file.
